Somewhere Out There
by smilingchica
Summary: It's after the divorce and Michelle feels lonely. She goes out. Will she regret what she has done? Keep reading to find out
1. Someone

_Hey, this is my first fanfic that I've posted here, so I'm a bit nervous. Please review and tell me what you think._

_In my story, I say that Michelle goes back to Seattle briefly after the divorce, so don't get confused._

_I don't own Tony and Michelle, or later mentioned, Addison, Mark or the Emerald City Bar (for all you Grey's Anatomy fans I also put something in here for you). So please don't sue, that would be appreciated.  
_

**Someone**

Michelle ran up the flight of stairs to her apartment. It was raining, like it constantly was in Seattle. She held her jacket over her head, willing her hair to stay dry and not become a frizzy nightmare. Her shoes, black stiletto heals, where having trouble ascending the steep incline, not able to move her self fast enough to prevent from getting soaked. The fat rain drops, cold and fast, hit her back in a steady rhythm. She reached the landing, her key already in hand and quickly slid it into the lock, opening the door and rushing in, slamming it behind her, keeping out the wet autumn day.

She threw her sopping suit jacket on the floor and placed her purse down on the small hall table. She kicked off her shoes and rung out her hair, her dark strands already curling. She shivered has she walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge but not finding anything. She wasn't really hungry after all.

Instead she put on the kettle to boil water, putting on some tea to warm her aching bones. She placed her numb fingers by the stove flame and let them painfully thaw, her nose running and her feet begging for her to sit down.

Once the water was boiling, she turned it down so it would slowly simmer, keeping warm until she needed it. She headed into her new bedroom, slowly pealing off her soaked clothes. She watched herself in the mirror, noticed how pail her skin looked in the scrutiny of the harsh lights in the bathroom. She saw the circles under her eyes, now uncovered. She looked down at her palm, where there was a faint scar from when she had broken a glass. A glass that had held wine as she read over the divorce papers that had his signature scribbled drunkenly below hers. She had thrown the glass at the wall, no tears. No, they would come later when she lay in the dark. She had thrown the glass at the wall, smashing against a picture before shattering to the floor. When she was cleaning up the red shards, that's when she had cut herself, cursing as blood spilled from her fresh cut, mingling with the drying wine on the white tile. She had sucked on it, running to the sink and holding it under the tap. It had stung, but it had been almost relieving as she saw her blood flow away down the drain, leaving her vanes like her past life was leaving her heart.

She looked back at herself, snapping back from her reverie. Her skin looked abandoned, unloved. She looked at her breasts and longed for hands to caress them, a curtain pair of hands. She wanted kisses to be planted along her frail neck, blazing their way down her. She wanted someone to hold her face and caress her lonely lips. She longed for someone to hold her, to want her.

There was only one person out there that she wanted, but he was long gone. She needed to find some else. Someone that didn't know her. Didn't know her past, didn't know what she did or had done. Someone that didn't care. And she needed to find him tonight.


	2. Club Zero

**Club Zero**

Michelle took a quick shower, getting out and lathering herself in different lotions, perfumes, trying to smother the little voice in her head telling her to stop what she was planning, to stay home and enjoy a sweet cup of tea. It said that she would regret what she wanted to do, but she didn't listen, she didn't care. She knew she would regret it but at this point she wasn't concerned. She was a divorced woman, meaning she was single and was completely in her right to go out and have some fun.

She looked through her closet, standing amid the morbid work suits in her best black lace underwear. It was knew, which meant that it belonged to her. That Tony never had seen her in it. Tony had never taken it off of her. That small fact made her feel as though this was right; that if Tony had never touched it, then other men could do it freely. She picked a shirt that showed lots of cleavage and short back skirt.

She looked at herself in the mirror, but remembered that Tony's slacks had hung next to that skirt. She pulled it off and switched them for tight jeans instead. Tonight she didn't want any hint of Tony on her.

She did her make up, hiding once again the dark circles under her eyes. She kept her hair down, straightening it once again. She studied herself. In front of her stood a new woman, a woman she hadn't seen in years.

Michelle smiled at herself seductively, wondering if her old charm still worked out in the open field. It seemed like she still had the skills, but deep in her eyes, she could still see the pain.

She headed back into the rain, though now it had stopped to a slow drizzle. The night was dark, just the pinpricks of stars visible through the wet skies. She drove down town. It was Friday night, the streets where milling with people. She drove by pulsing clubs, lights spilling out into the street, cigarette smoke rising through the throng of close knitted people, all grinding and dancing together.

She parked and got out of her car, walking confidently down the street. She pulled her jacket a little closer but left room for the top of her breasts to show. She decided to go into the nearest club that looked good enough to stop in. She didn't have to go far before the loud vibe of Club Zero met her ears. A line was formed outside, a guard checking IDs before letting anyone into the hazy beyond.

Michelle got in line behind a couple already making out as they waited. The man's hand was on the woman's ass, feeling her through her red leather. Michelle felt somewhat awkward about this. _Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. _

But before she could turn away, the guard pointed to her to come to him.

"You," he said, pointing a stubby finger. Michelle did has he ordered. She passed everyone else and stood before the bulky guard. He was almost two heads taller than her and his biceps strained against the fabric of his black shirt. He looked her up and down, appraising her like one might a new car before raising the maroon rope and letting her though.

"Go on ahead," he said in a deep, almost gravely voice. She titled her head to him in thanks before slipping inside.

Strobe lights hung from the pipe rafters, illuminating chosen parts of the room. A sunken platform in the center of the floor was crowded with dancing bodies. Their skins looked blue and red, yellow and green in the swiveling lights, distorting everyone.

She wove her way to the bar, noticing as eyes watched her, looking her up and down before moving one to someone more interesting.

"What would you like," the bar tender asked her over the loud music. He looked barely nineteen, not even old enough to drink yet. Michelle tried to ignore her natural agent instincts saying to take the boy in.

"A shot of tequila," she said.

"Coming right up." She watched as he disappeared down the line, his toned arms wiping down the alcohol drenched counter.

While she waited, she turned around, propping her elbows behind her on the bar and scanned the room for anyone interesting. That's when he caught her eye.

He was sitting in one of the privet lounges, laughing at something one of his buddies said. Everyone had a girl sitting on their lap except him. She wondered if he was single or maybe his date was just in the bathroom. But he gave her the looked. Michelle averted her eyes, giving him the sign that she was alone.

"One shot of tequila," the bartender said, sliding the small shot glass to her.

"Thanks," she said as she felt the guy come behind her.

"Hi," he said close to her ear.

"Hi," she said, smiling to herself. Obviously she still had it. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at him and was able to see him up close. He had dark blond hair and green eyes. He looked hot, in that male model kind of way.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, still extremely close to her.

"Sure," she said, dragging down her shot in one gulp. He laughed slightly.

He handed the bartender a twenty, "Keep them coming."

"What's your name," he asked, his body swaying with the vibration that rocked the floor.

"Michelle," she said, taking another shot and throwing her head back.

"Jason," he said, smiling with a mouth full of veneers and bleached teeth. She looked him up and down.

"Jason," she said, trying the name out on her tongue. It was a good name, an easy name to forget, to get mixed up with Jacob, Jack, or James. He seemed like a likely candidate for her night prowl.

"Do you want to dance, Jason?" she asked, already standing up and taking his hand.

"Sure," he replied, using the opportunity to get closer to her.

"Let's go," she said after drinking another shot.

They wove through the crowd, going to the heart of the beat, letting the music pump through their hormone fueled vanes.

The music was hot and fast, drawing yells from people, punching their fists in the air. It pulled everyone into a hyper frenzy. Sweat mingled and bodies collided. Michelle and Jason moved to it, breathing heavily as they came together again, lips slightly brushing each other. This all happened in a blur of color and flesh. She let the old Michelle float away, Michelle the federal agent, Michelle the divorced, broken hearted woman whose husband was a drunk but who she still terribly loved. The Michelle that hadn't done this since her collage years; the Michelle that didn't drink or potentially have one night stands. She just let this Michelle sink through the floor to await her tomorrow when this was all over.

After some time, she didn't know if it was a minute or an hour or a day, her whole sense of time was broken, Jason pulled her away from the mad crowd, tugging her into a private alcove, where he commenced to kiss her. He grabbed her roughly, nothing like what Tony would have done, she liked this new feeling. His hand roamed down the back of her jeans, the other holding her face to his. His tongue whipped in her mouth, tasting her tequila infused tongue. Michelle pressed herself to him, ignoring the voice in her head screaming at her to stop. She kissed him fiercely, almost painfully. She squeezed her eyes shut just letting him touch her, giving him her silent consent. He bit at her neck, she moaned into the colored dark.

"God, what are you wearing? It smells incredible," he said, almost whimpering, kissing her neck, inhaling her perfume. Her eyes snapped open.

Oh my god. She had heard those words before. She forgot about the strange guy now inching his hands up her shirt and traveled to the past.

_"God, what are you wearing? It smells incredible," Tony whispered into her ear. His teeth nibbled at her earlobe, running his nose against her jaw line as he pinned her to the wall._

_"You like it?" she panted. _

_"I love it."_

_"Good," she said before pushing him back on the couch and falling on top of him, making him laugh. There lips met and fused together._

_"You want to do it here on the couch?" he asked incredulously._

_"Why not," she said, unbuttoning his shirt, kissing every inch of skin she exposed._

_"Works for me," he said, helping her rip off her shirt. He unzipped her skirt and rolled over, forgetting that they where on the couch and not on her bed. They fell onto the floor, where they bursted into loud fits of laughter._

She couldn't do this. How could she be so stupid as to wear Tony's favorite perfume _tonight_. That one scent had betrayed her whole intention.

"Stop," she said, barely over a whisper. He didn't seem to hear, or maybe didn't care.

"Stop," she said more forcefully.

He looked up, a confused and annoyed look on his face. "Why?"

She was going to say that she couldn't do this, but from the look on his face, she could tell that he wouldn't take no as an answer. So instead she said, "I need to pee."

"Hurry back," he said with a mischievous smile. She tried to smile back, but really wanting to punch him for some reason. It wasn't really his fault that she couldn't just let herself go and have sex with him. She still felt helplessly like a married woman.

She walked toward the neon sign flashing the word restrooms and headed to it. She wiped her mouth as she went. Once she was sure that she was out of his line of vision, she approached another guard.

"Could you tell me another way out of here?" she asked him desperately.

He laughed to himself, "One of those dates?"

"Ya, I guess. Yes," she started unsure but ended confidently.

"Down this hallway, big metal door on the right," he said, gesturing with his arms.

"Thanks," she said, already heading there. She threw open the door and stepped out into the chilly night. The fresh air slapped her cheeks, but she felt relieved to be away. The cold woke her from the grogginess which had clutched her inside. She pulled up her collar and headed to her car.

When she reached it, she got inside and sat there deciding what to do next. She didn't want to go home yet. She drove around, knowing she was intoxicated but she wasn't a risk. Wouldn't it be funny if she was pulled over for drinking and driving, her, a federal agent. She could've laughed at the image but didn't have the energy. She drove past Seattle Grace Hospital and that's when she noticed the Emerald City Bar.


End file.
